


pieces of april

by retorica



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Cousin Incest, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Loss of Virginity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-15 01:58:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8037730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retorica/pseuds/retorica
Summary: His little cousin was her own self-made torch. The kind that burned you, but never lit the way. Jess/April. Post Season 7.





	pieces of april

**Author's Note:**

> I know this isn't a very orthodox idea. But the Revival has got me thinking of them and the endless possibilities. Even if you don't find a romance between them tasteful, you might like their bond. 
> 
> The timeline for this story is kind of all over the place, but most of it takes place Post S7. So basically, 2007 - 2014.

 

i. 

 

Of all the crummy things Jess did to his martyr uncle Luke, sleeping with his daughter would be in the top three. Maybe even number one.

Except, he also broke his heart a long time ago.

He’s getting ahead of himself, though.

 

The first time he met her was at his open house at Truncheon Books. He didn’t even _see_ her properly. People in their twenties want to forget all about their thirteen-year old self, so April didn’t really register. She didn’t even look like Luke. She could’ve been anyone. But she was definitely a reminder of the past, even if she hadn’t been a part of it. She seemed to _really_ like the place, because she was a kid who’d been taken on a trip to Philly by her dad, and this was the height of extravagance.

When he first heard Luke was a father, his immediate thought was “He’ll do a better job”. _Better_ , not just good. Better than his real dad, better than any dad he’d ever known. Hell, Luke would put Atticus Finch out of business if he set his mind to it. 

He didn’t worry for him. He had put up with Jess. He could handle another kid. And this one wouldn’t be half the trouble.

 

The second time he saw her properly was at Liz’s daughter’s first birthday. He’d already missed his sister’s baptizing and well, _birth_. He made an effort to show up.

His mom, as always, was so low maintenance. He brought flowers and a teddy bear and she cried and hugged him very tight and talked about how she had the _best_ son in the world, the very best. T.J. made a humorous interjection. “What about _our_ kid?” To which Liz laughed and replied, “Doula is a girl. But this is _my son_.”

Jess mustered a smile and it felt like a grimace. _Oh, mom._ She was so easily impressed. Her heart was open, 24/7. He used to hate that about her, he used to consider it a gross weakness. Now, he just wanted to protect her from the rest of the world that didn’t give two shits about her heart. He was the poor man’s Holden Caulfield, that’s what he was.

April was sitting with Doula at the birthday table, bouncing her up and down on her knee. She was talking to her about vaccines.

“You’ll be going to kindergarten in a year or two, which is pretty much a _hotbed_ for childhood diseases. But don’t worry; they can be easily prevented with proper inoculation. I’ll remind your mom to give you the shots when the time comes. I know she believes in homeopathic remedies, but I’m gonna print out some articles from the web for her to read…”

Jess cleared his throat. “Hey.”

April looked up, squinting behind a pair of Nancy Drew glasses.

 “You’re Jess.”

“Yes, I am.”

“I think I’ve met you.”

“You have. Philly.”

“I knew it had something to do with Liberty Bell,” she beamed.

 He noted that she looked _exactly_ the same. Thirteen, fourteen - what did it matter? People that age never seemed to actually change from year to year.

Then you suddenly hit twenty-two and you started cropping your hair like you were some background character on _Minority Report_ , and there was a five o’clock shadow across your jaw no matter how many times you shaved, and your body filled out with flesh that you almost didn’t recognize as your own.

 “Can I hold her?”

“She crawls a lot, so you have to keep her moving,” she said, as if he didn’t look up for the task. He probably didn’t.

“I think I can keep up.”

April shrugged and eased Doula into his open arms. “Careful with the head.”

“Yeah, everyone talks about the head,” he muttered, looking down at his baby sister. “She’s pretty.”

“She has Liz’s chin. But she’s got T.J.’s eyes. So she inherited the dominant gene from him.”

Jess cocked his head, trying to see his mother and her dopey husband inside this tiny person. He couldn’t see anything.

“Do _you_ want to have children someday?”

The idea was so absurd and untenable, he almost laughed.

He looked at her askance, but she was still waiting for an honest-to-God answer. Later, he would realize that April was a human observer. She liked to assess a person from every conceivable angle; physical, biological, psychological…you name it.  She didn’t think she was being rude or prying into people’s business. She thought it was her right to access this knowledge. As if people were just test subjects and it was their duty to collaborate in this study of the human condition.

“In this economy? Better not,” he quipped.

“That’s sensible. I mean, chances of them having a healthy adulthood are really thin. But on the flipside, if you don’t procreate, someone else will. Someone stupider. Smart people are having fewer kids these days, but the rest of the world is still multiplying. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a fan of eugenics, but we should look out for the next generation, shouldn’t we?”

Jess raised an eyebrow. “How do you know I’m smart?”

April frowned. “Luke told me.”

“Luke could be lying.”

She pointed to the backpack he still had slouched over his shoulder. “Do you have a book in there?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“And I assume you haven’t brought it as a seat cushion?”

Jess snorted.

April smiled victoriously. “See?  You’re smart.”

“Nice routine, Lucille Ball,” he complimented, taking off his backpack. He found his shoulder was aching.

“Pop culture references are also a good indication of intelligence. Though, it varies. I mean my classmates keep name-dropping something called _The Mentalist_ , and I’ve tried that show and it’s really dumb.”

The thing about April is that she was not trying to impress you, or even _make_ an impression. She just rattled off about things that interested her or bothered her, without considering whether they interested or bothered _you_.

And fuck, he used to know someone like that, didn’t he?

Rory wasn’t there. He was sure Luke and Liz had invited her. Her mom had come, though. She and Luke seemed to be an item again, which made sense. He didn’t go over to talk to her. In fact, he avoided her for most of the afternoon. Yeah, he might’ve turned a new leaf, but he was not _that_ functional. He still carried some overlapping dysfunctionality from those bad teenage years when he thought Bukowski was the only schooling he needed. He _still_ thought that, deep down, even though he knew it was wrong.  

Lorelai saw him at one point and waved in his direction and looked almost _sympathetic_.

Jess wanted to kick something. Rory must’ve told her about that stupid kiss.

He hated that thing people said about old crushes. What was the expression? Carrying a torch for someone?

He didn’t carry a torch for Rory. He was trying to _run_ from that torch, but it kept following him.

And Liz’s backyard felt so small.

He ended up sitting next to April at the birthday table. She was telling him about the Fibonacci sequence and how “cool” it was.

“Did you know the last Fibonacci year was 1597?  Because the previous numbers in the sequence were 610 and 987, and those add up to 1597. The next Fibonacci year is going to be 2584. But we won’t be alive for that.”

“We weren’t alive for 1597 either,” he commented, putting down his third beer of the night.

“Well, that’s true…” April trailed off, chewing on her lip. “I guess it’s kind of sad we’re always out of the loop.”

Jess nodded, watching Luke and Lorelai dance. Soon, he’d be attending _their_ kid’s first birthday. And then, who knew? Rory might invite him to _her_ daughter’s birthday too.

A never-ending loop. And he was out of it.

 

The recession hit everyone, but it hit him last. His tiny publishing house survived the first years somehow, because debt back then was just a phantom accumulation that you didn’t need to worry about – until you did. Solvency became a cruel fantasy that he dreamed of securing every single month and every single month he came up short. That’s no way to live.

Matt and Chris sold their shares and cashed out with what was left. Truncheon Books was done by 2010, just when people were saying the crisis bubble was about to pop. 

He packed his bags and moved to New York.

He had references and experience under his belt now, enough to get him working at… Barnes & Noble. Well, shit, those were not very good references, after all.

He still had a few contacts from the publishing world.  His book had not been very popular, or sold very well for that matter, but it _had_ reached the right people. All he needed was some funds and some patrons, and he could re-start Truncheon Books in New York (maybe with a different, less Cecil Beaton-y name?) He could campaign on the Internet. Make one of those embarrassing “Think of the kids/America doesn’t read anymore” public pages.

Maybe.

First he had to feed and clothe himself.

 

Two years later he hadn’t made much progress. He’d written half of second book (it was lousy, by his standards) and he was still prowling indie bookstores, getting in touch with “people in the business”, going to poetry slams and open mic nights, and trying to stay in the fucking fame, but he was twenty-six and he already felt old and inadequate. Kids no longer thought you were cool if you talked about _Wilco_ and John Berryman.

He still got a lot of tail. It had started in Philly, this era of “Jess, the Stud”. Girls loved affected asshole with daddy issues. Mostly because _they_ were affected assholes with daddy issues. He tried not to be a jerk about it; he’d call them the next day or the following week, tell them he had fun, but that he was trying to sort his shit out right now and he didn’t think he’d be a good anything. Most of them said, “Relax, you’re hardly boyfriend material”, but some of them found him at Barnes  & Noble and said they wanted to “be there for him, no matter what”. And since he still felt guilty about Rory, he’d be suckered into a one-month relationship, during which they’d both feel like shit and the girl would end up crying nine times out of ten.

So, he wasn’t exactly rock-solid, emotionally speaking, and it was _probably_ a bad idea when Luke reached out to him about April.

He hadn’t set foot in Stars Hollow in four years. It was usually Liz or Luke who came up to New York to see him. Luke had brought Lorelai only once, to see a show. He hadn’t made that mistake again. His sister, Doula, was five now and she liked nothing better than to kick down all the book carts in the store and watch him pick them up.

His cousin, April, was eighteen. He hadn’t seen her since Doula’s first birthday. She was in New Mexico with her mom half the time. She’d sent him a single postcard back in 2009. A picture of the Taos Pueblo, which she’d visited with her Mathlete Club after winning a competition. She’d written some gibberish on the back that was supposed to be in the Native language. She hadn’t offered a translation.

“So, listen, I know this is last-minute, but April got into Tandon,” Luke was explaining on the phone. “Some fancy school of engineering. It offers a really good pre-med package.”

“Pre-med. Figures.”

“Yeah, she’s a really smart kid. _Really_ smart. Rory-smart, you know?”

Jess winced.

“But yeah, she’s coming to New York,” Luke continued, oblivious. “And I thought, hey, you’re in New York, and I’d feel so much better knowing you’re looking after her. I mean, I’m gonna visit her every other two weeks, obviously, but I can’t always be there to watch her.”

“ _Watch_ her? Like with binoculars?” he quipped, unable to help himself.

“Jess.”

“She’s legally an adult, you know.”

“She’s still my kid, she’ll always be my little girl.”

“Like that’s not creepy.”

“ _Jess_.”

“Fine, fine. I’m here if she needs me.”

“See, that’s the thing,” Luke grumbled. “April doesn’t think she needs anybody. You gotta be the one to reach out.”

Jess pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let me guess. She doesn’t know you’ve made me her chaperone.”

Luke heaved a guilty sigh. “Nope.”

Later, he told himself he couldn’t have backed out of it. She was his cousin and Luke had done so much for him. Because that was the thing with his uncle; he was a devious bastard. He was a stand-up guy, but he never forgot when it was time to collect. 

 

The third time he saw April was when she rolled out her luggage from Penn Station. He had registered so little of her face in the past that he didn’t know where to place her. It’s only when she started talking that she felt familiar again. Oh, yeah. Inoculation and procreation. He remembered.

She had gotten a few inches taller. Her head reached just above his shoulder. The Nancy Drew glasses had been replaced with professional square-rimmed ones. Her hair was pulled up in a straight, almost geometrical pony-tail, no unruly lock out of place. She was wearing the kind of jeans and boots that yelled “sensible and smart and not about to twist an ankle”. She already had the MD look down pat. Except for this one ridiculous pink bracelet that was wound around her wrist.

He eyed it for a moment or two, until April coughed, embarrassed. “That’s from my mom. She made me promise I’d wear it wherever I go. That way she can be with me in New York.”

“Cool. She make it?”

“Yeah. She’s really talented. This isn’t her best stuff. It’s more sentimental than artistic–”

“April. It’s fine.”

It was the first time he had actually said her name.

The girl sucked in a breath and exhaled. “Did Dad put you up to this?”

Jess stepped forward and took one of the suitcases from her hand. “That’s heavy. You’re staying in a dorm, right?”

“Because I’m _fine_ , I really am,” April continued, trying to get the suitcase back from him. “I don’t need help. I know he worries a lot because men have a weird hang-up about their female progeny, but I’ve traveled across the country multiple times and never once did I get in trouble. I can do my own laundry, I know how to cook pasta _and_ I know how to remove wine stains from a carpet. Not that I’d have reason to remove wine stains, but just in case.”

Jess nodded his head. “Impressive. Do you know how to get from Penn to your dorm?”

April faltered. “I have the address. I thought I’d just take a cab –”

Jess smiled. “You gonna sell your kidneys too? There’s no point giving a month’s rent to a taxi. Come on, I’ll teach you the mysterious ways of the subway.”

April fiddled with her pink bracelet. “I know the subway, I’ve been before –”

“Good, then you’ll learn fast.”

He grabbed the other suitcase and started walking fast, not looking back. After a few seconds, he heard her feet shuffling quickly behind him.

So. He was doing this.

 

He’d given her his cell phone number for emergencies.

He didn’t tell her he had to get a cell phone in the first place. Yes, he was the _last_ person on Earth to not own a mobile in 2012. He’d lived by that code since he was seventeen. He thought he could keep it up. He did have an e-mail and everything. He wasn’t a Neanderthal. He just didn’t believe in Instagram and Snapchat and whatever else was making people froth at the mouth.

But okay, this was for his cousin.

April didn’t seem the type to call him in the middle of the night, crying about getting fucked from some strong weed strain. Which had happened on his landline once or twice. He kept weird friends.

She thanked him and collected her luggage when they reached her dorm building. She told him she’d keep in touch and that “you have to show me around someday”, but she didn’t sound eager about it. She sounded like every kid who’d just arrived in New York. Like she already knew everything. 

 

But she didn’t, did she?

It was eleven PM when she called him one Saturday night, a few weeks later.

To his shame, he was sitting in his slacks in front of the TV, like some retired vet, eating Hershey’s Kisses straight out of the box.

“Yeah?”

“Jess?”

“Hey, April. How’s school –”

“I think my friend passed out. And my shoulder’s getting numb. I – I didn’t know who else to call.”

She’d somehow landed in Bushwick, at a “warehouse party”, commonly known as a rave. The story was long and convoluted, but _hell_ , they had time to kill. They were both nursing lukewarm coffees, sitting opposite each other in the cheap deli across the street from his apartment. 

“You have to realize, I was roped into it. Cassidy said we’d just drop in for an hour or two. It was our deal. I’d go with her to Seth’s party and she’d go with me to The Power of Poison.”

Jess frowned. “That a band or something?”

“An exhibit at the Museum of Natural History, actually.”

“Right. Go on.”

The way April described it, the party had been something out of Dante’s Inferno. She’d lost Cassidy right away and had to look for her in a mass of sweaty, incoherent college students. A pimply-looking guy had put his hand on her ass. She’d hit him in the knee and he’d called her a bitch. And then _other_ people had called her a bitch because she wouldn’t lend them money. She’d also knocked over these giant beer crates and she’d broken a lot of bottles, which was why she smelled like that. She _hadn’t_ drunk. But Cassidy had downed an impressive amount of alcohol. The girl in question was currently snoring on Jess’ couch.

“I think she was trying to impress Seth. He’s in our Organic Chem class, but he’s such a jerk. I guess college is a lot like high school.”

Jess chuckled. Like he’d know. He’d never know. “Sounds about right.”

“Anyway, I’d read about alcoholic comas before and I knew I had to check her vitals and try to keep her hydrated and moving, but she was out of it, I mean _really_ out of it. She threw up in the alley outside while I held her hair. _That_ was a rite of passage. I thought it was good she was getting the toxins out. I tried to get her to exercise, you know, to open up her pores. I said, let’s do slow laps around the building. She passed out on me halfway through and I had to carry her around, because I couldn’t put her down in the street and there were no beds, not even _chairs_ , at the party.”

“And that’s when you called me.”

April looked down at her unappetizing cup of coffee. “You won’t tell Dad, will you? He’d freak out, even if it was Cassidy who got drunk.”

Jess scratched at his stubble. He really needed to shave.

“I won’t tell him. But next time you go to a party, text me the location. Just in case.”

April seemed nonplussed. “Really?”

“Yeah. Keep me in the loop.” And he realized, he’d heard that one before. The stupid Fibonacci sequence. 2584. He remembered. Did she?

“Thanks,” she said meekly. “I’m sorry, by the way.”

“For what?”

“Well, I call you for the first time in weeks and it’s about a drunken accident,” she explained, embarrassed.

“Don’t sweat it. I’m not exactly a pillow-talk guy.”

 “Still,” April insisted. “I hope you don’t think I’m an irresponsible idiot. I’d hate for you to think that.”

He looked out the window at the bleak November sky. It was getting close to dawn. That special hour when every object seems to live within its shadow, when grey is the only shade in the world. He loved this time of day. Some people found it depressing. But what could be depressing about this unvarnished reality? Nothing could lie to you.

“You shouldn’t care what I think.”

“I have to. You’re family,” she explained with her trademark logic.

“Yeah, well, you’re talking to a guy who wrecked his car a couple of times. Sometimes, not even his _own_ car.”

And he started telling her about the time he drove Rory around and got her in an accident. He didn’t mention her name, or who she was. The great thing about April was that she didn’t know the sordid details of his teenage romance. Luke would have wanted to shield her from all that.

He didn’t really know why he was telling her the story, though. Maybe he felt like telling it to someone and telling it straight. He didn’t talk about his feelings. He didn’t mention his guilt. He also didn’t mention his _relief_. Because, truth be told, he’d been _glad_ that Rory now had a good reason to stay away from him. That way, he couldn’t disappoint her.

_Ha_. If only he’d known that a few broken taillights would be the least of the disappointments.

April listened closely. She didn’t interrupt. She didn’t judge. She didn’t seem to have an opinion.

Later on, he realized she was _observing_ him. She was conducting a study in her head, the way she did with most people. Watching the human animal in its natural habitat.

He didn’t mind. It was what he came to like about her, this neutral empathy.

 

Cassidy couldn’t be stirred until the next day, so April spent the remainder of the night with her friend at his place.

Jess told her it was _totally_ fine to take his bed.  He’d sleep on the floor. He’d done it before.

“I’m putting you out. Let me take the floor.”

“No way. Look, future doctor? It’s actually better to sleep on a hard surface than on a fluffy mattress.”

April smiled. “That’s neither here nor there.”

“It’s where I say it is. Let’s just get some rest. I’m beat.”

She didn’t have the energy to fight with him about that. They were both exhausted.

“Could you lend me a T-Shirt? I still stink of beer.”

“Drawer on the left. Help yourself.”

Jess watched her as she rifled through his clothes. He was reminded of his last girlfriend, a classic neurotic, who had sorted his clothes into “angry” and “peaceful”.

“These jeans scream anger, Jess,” she’d said in her heartfelt way.

April held up a _Jethro Tull_ T-Shirt. “Can I take this?”

“All yours.”

She slipped into the bathroom to change. When she came back in the room, Jess was already laid down on the floor, and from his position below, he could only see legs.

A shapely pair of legs.

The T-Shirt reached down to her knees, but it rode up when she plopped down in bed.

“Do you like this band?” she asked, pulling him out of his stupid reverie about _legs_.

“Jethro? Yeah, they’re good, if you’re into folk rock and some blues on the side.”

“I don’t know if I am,” she confessed. “I’ve never tried folk or blues or anything.”

“I have their record somewhere around here...what do you listen to? And if you say Katy Perry, I’ll have to throw you and Cassidy out.”

She laughed.  She could see him lying on the floor next to bed, like some watchful dog.

“Have you ever gotten really drunk?”

The change of subject bewildered him. But he’d soon learn this was another one of April’s ways. When the subject got stale or uninteresting for her, she switched.

“Yeah.”

“What was it like?”

“Cassidy paints a pretty accurate picture.”

“It has to be different for everyone, though.” She was already in observer-mode, as if she was contemplating an experiment. Get a number of subjects drunk and watch them dance.

“Well…for me it feels like trying to climb up some stairs and then realizing you’re in the basement,” he explained, rubbing at his eyes tiredly.

April cocked her head to the side. “That’s an interesting metaphor. Where are you climbing to?”

“What?”

“You said it feels like climbing up some stairs. What’s the destination?”

“There _is_ no destination.”

 “So you just keep climbing without purpose? I don’t know, I’d prefer the basement,” she argued.

Jess massaged his temples. “You’re a very literal person, you know that? Forget it. Let’s just sleep.”

So they slept.  It was odd, but it was the best rest he’d had in a while, lying there with his sheets on the hard floor.  

The next morning, he made Cassidy a “hangover” cocktail, his own recipe.

“Every guy has one,” he explained. In truth, he was just going to make some lemonade and crush a lot of aspirin in it.

April nodded seriously. “Hang on, I’ll go get my notebook. I need to write this down.”

And there was a brief flash in the way she turned her back on him and the way her hair fell in her eyes. The torch was still following him. He’d almost seen Rory.

Maybe he had some kind of fucked-up fetish. The intellectually-driven and oblivious blue-eyed beauty. That was his fucking type.

 

April called him more often after the drunken stint. Her calls coincided with Luke’s visits. She’d ring him up to complain about “Dad” and his over-protective ways.

“He bought me a Swiss-Army knife.”

“Handy.”

“Yeah, especially if I need to take someone’s eye out.”

“Try it on Seth.”

She liked that he remembered these small details about her. School was going great. She loved it. But she _still_ hadn’t managed to go to that exhibit at the Museum of Natural History.

So he took her, right after Thanksgiving.

“Why didn’t you come home for Thanksgiving? Dad was hoping you’d show up. He saved you a seat and everything.”

Her question wasn’t an accusation, but rather a genuine inquiry. Why _did_ Jess behave the way he did? She was curious to know.

“Was Lorelai there?” he asked, fishing in his pocket for cash.

“I have my student pass, so I get 50 percent off. Yeah, she was there.”

“Okay then.”

She didn’t know if he was Okaying Lorelai or the tickets, but she had enough tact to stay quiet.

She was beginning to piece a history, a murky, rather confusing history about Jess’ time in Stars Hallow. Her dad was always extra-quiet on that front. He’d only told her Jess used to work at Walmart and that he hadn’t graduated high-school. But she knew there was more to it than that. What about the girl whose car he’d wrecked?

They walked through the expo rooms together, listening to the presentation on their headphones.

At one point, she pulled him by the elbow to the glass cage of a gila monster, otherwise known as _Heloderma Suspectum_.

“If you get bitten by one of these guys, you have to dunk them in water in order to break free from their teeth.”

Jess stared at the speckled lizard in front of him and thought of what it meant to never let go. To keep biting. Until someone drowns you.

April let go of his elbow. “You like it?”

He looked at her profile, her eyes shining with some faraway thought, far more interesting than Jess Mariano, to be sure.

“Yeah.”

 

In time, he learned a few things about her non-scientific tastes. They appalled him. She read a lot of soapy paranormal romances. She loved Sophie Kinsella. Her childhood classic was _Deenie_. Fucking Deenie.

She _did_ listen to Katy Perry. And Pink. And Justin Timberlake and Kylie Minogue. She had never even heard of Radiohead. She had hated _Huckleberry Finn_ when she’d had to read it for school. She had liked _Lord of the Flies_ , but purely on an abstract level. She’d been fascinated with the pig-head and what it meant about the island’s habitat and the possibility of organized religion. She hadn’t cared for any of the children. Let them rot. If something was fictional, she didn’t have to care.

He would have hated her, if she were not April.

But she _was_ April.

So he made sure to save her the stupid bestsellers he had on sale that month.

He even read some of them, just to keep up with her. He supposed that pre-med kept the mind plenty occupied. And when the mind wanted to tune out, it turned to Reality TV Shows.

Whenever she came over, which happened around once a month, they’d watch _Teen Mom_ and _Dancing With the Stars_ religiously. He’d throw a lot of snippy comments around and make fun of the people involved, but April took it seriously. She watched the drama unfold with the keen eye of the unadulterated observer. No aspect of life, no matter how ridiculous and artificial, could turn her off.

He couldn’t help but envy this quality in her. He required several layers of irony before he could admit he found something worthwhile.

April just didn’t bother.

“My favorite Teen Mom is Allison because she waited to turn eighteen before she released her sex tape. Plus she made sure she got a good deal. That’s important; she’s thinking about her kid’s financial future.”

“Yeah, but a sex tape? That kid’s gonna grow up being the butt of jokes. His friends at school will tell him they saw his mom naked,” Jess argued, having sudden, weary flashbacks of some assholes joking about Liz and her boyfriends.

“So what if they see his mom naked? They’ve probably seen their own mothers in some state of undress.”

“Yikes. That’s worse.”

“All I’m saying is, she shouldn’t be ashamed,” April insisted stubbornly. “She wanted to celebrate her body. Sex is just one way to do that.”

Jess always got a little shiver when she mentioned sex so clinically. Most of her friends were sexually active and pretty chatty about it. April loved to relay that information to him in the most analytic way possible.

“Cassidy said the guy played with her taint, and when I looked that up I found out it’s the layman’s term for the perineum, the region between the genitals and the anus. It’s supposed to be erogenous.”

Jess grimaced. They were eating lunch together in Central Park. He looked down at his ketchup and mayo-lathered sandwich and felt like throwing up.

“Jesus, April.”

“Too graphic? Yeah, that’s what I told her. She said I’m a prude. So, I guess, _not_ being a prude is talking about it.”

He frowned, throwing his sandwich away. “She said you’re a prude? Tell her to screw off.”

“I’m not insulted…” she trailed off. “I guess I should get that over with.”

“What?”

“Sex. I’ve scheduled it sometime this spring. I’ve even talked to Mom.”

Jess spat the Coke all over his shirt. April offered him some napkins.

“What the hell does that mean?” he asked, when she’d stopped dabbing at his chest.

“It means I talked to another virgin in my Molecular Biology class. His name’s Anthony? He agreed to do it. I called Mom and asked her if it was okay to do it like that and she just said to get condoms and be safe. Oh, and make sure he’s nice. I told her he’s the smartest guy in the class after me. We both agreed we’d do it right before spring break, because his parents leave for Martha’s Vineyard and we have an opening that night.”

Jess ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, Eve Ensler, slow down. That’s a lot of shit you have planned. You actually went up to the guy and told him all this?”

“Yup. And he was pretty happy with our arrangement. Relieved, actually. You know the stigma is harder for men.”

“Look, you can’t do it like that. What do you know about this Anthony guy? Besides him being able to ace a few undergrad classes?”

“Those classes are hard,” she objected. “And he’s…nice. I think. I mean, I haven’t seen him be anything but nice.”

“He could be some Patrick Bateman Grade-A psychopath for all you know. I’m not letting you do this.”

April parted her lips in surprise. “You’re not _letting_ me do this? You’re not my dad.”

“Then I’ll _tell_ your dad.”

“Jess! You wouldn’t it!”

“Like hell I wouldn’t. I feel like ringing him up right now and telling him to ground you for life.”

“Okay, this is a gross overreaction! I’ll be safe! You know I can take care of myself. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal, _April_ , is you can’t just – you can’t just have sex with some rando.”

“Why not?”

Jess sighed, running a hand through his hair.  He needed a haircut. “Because you might end up regretting it after.”

“I won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“April…”

“God, I thought you were cool! Not like the rest of the adults who look down on me, who think I can’t make my own choices. I thought you understood me.”

“I do…” Shit, he was only twenty-seven and already this girl was telling him he was an obsolete grandpa.

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” she said, getting up from their bench.

 

He texted her later, because he was too cowardly to call.

_I do get you. I just want it to be special for you. Sounds corny, but sex shouldn’t be meaningless._

_Jess_

She texted him back, an hour later.

_My mom told my dad I was thinking about having sex with Anthony. I hate her._

 

Luke got on a train and was at her dorm in record time. To his credit, he tried to be patient and calm about it. He told April she had to bring home any boy she was thinking of getting…physical with. That was his only condition, but it was ironclad. He told her she needed to get a _serious_ boyfriend before she could even _think_ of anything else. April was reduced to tears.

“And you’re staying with your cousin, Jess, for a while until you re-evaluate your choices.”

 

Jess held her while she cried in his arms, mumbling incoherently about “crazy family” and “it’s the twenty-first century” and “Universal Darwinism”.

She even took off her pink bracelet in a fit of rage and threw it against the wall.

“Throw it in the garbage, I don’t care,” she sniffed.

He picked it up later and put it in his pocket. He knew she might want it when everything was said and done. He was used to absconding with someone's jewelry, wasn't he?  

“To think I chose New York so I can be closer to _Dad_. You’d think he’d appreciate that,” she said at one point, slamming her fist into his kitchen counter. “I’m moving to Alaska. See how he likes it.”

He commiserated with her and agreed that Luke was an asshole, and that Alaska sounded promising, all the while feeling so goddamn _relieved_ that Anthony Whatshisface wouldn’t get his dirty paws on her.

“Crap. I think I broke some bones,” she said, showing him her swollen, purple hand. He held the ice pack against the bruise.

Maybe this is what premature fatherhood felt like.

 

Except, not really.

Because living with her, he discovered why he had never asked April to move in with him.

His little cousin was her own self-made torch. The kind that burned you, but never lit the way.


End file.
